Recovery
by ParisIsBurning
Summary: After a failed suicide attempt, Heather makes the decision to face her longstanding depression once and for all. Along the way, she makes many shocking discoveries about herself, and what it truly means to be happy. Rated T for now.
1. Big Changes Ahead

**A/N: Hey guys!  
**

**This idea struck me randomly a few nights ago and I thought I'd give it a shot. It's definitely different from what I've done before. Let's see if you guys like it or not. **

**In this story, TDI never happened (I guess that means it's an AU?), though some characters do make an appearance. **

**Let me know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**xxxxxx**

**Prologue**

_I want to stay alive. I really do want to live and be alive and continue on._

I repeated the words over and over, whispering quietly as I ran my fingers alongside the smooth buttons on the side of my hospital bed.

It wasn't quite a sudden realization. In fact, I couldn't exactly pinpoint when I'd had the rapid change of heart. Most people say it happens right after you do It. After all, that was a part of the tragedy: a person gets ready to do It, leaves their note saying goodbye, gets whatever they need to do It, but right after taking the plunge, they regret their months or years or maybe only days of planning and suddenly want to cling to life again. Of course, they get bonus points if It is successful and they're gone, because the story just gets that much sadder.

But no, I was different. When I tried It, I didn't plan it or even fully realize what I was doing. I tried It after having spent some odd hours in my room, crying and throwing a fit as usual. I wanted an escape from the bad feelings. I was sick and tired of emotions. I ran straight into the kitchen, dug through the medicine cabinet, and just started swallowing anything and everything. All of my rational thinking had flown straight out the window, and I stayed on autopilot as I swallowed and swallowed, crying and screaming.

I guess it was a good thing that my judgment had been clouded enough to not realize my father was in the next room. I briefly heard him scream and call for an ambulance before blacking out.

Next thing I knew, I was here, laying in a hospital bed, with a complete change of heart. Well, sort of. I didn't feel any great passion towards staying alive. I guess it would be easier to say that I didn't want to be dead.

And for me, that was one step further than I'd been for years.

xxxxx

"How are you feeling, Ms. McLaren?" some nurse asked as she took down my vitals.

I shrugged. "Well, considering I've done nothing but lay in bed and watch T.V. for twelve hours straight, I don't have too many feelings at all. Who needs them, right?"

The nurse grimaced, clearly uncomfortable with my, uh, _blunt _sarcasm towards the situation. She rolled her eyes and walked out, not saying a word.

"For God's sake, lady, it's just a joke. Don't have a cow," I muttered to the empty room.

Next Mom walks in, rambling in Chinese to her cell phone, probably complaining about the whole situation to my _Lao Lao, _which was just great. I needed another reason for my grandmother to be ashamed of me.

"_Zàijiàn," _Mom muttered into the phone before snapping it shut, exhaling sharply. "Heather, what have you done here?"

I rolled my eyes. "What, did the doctors not fill you in?"

"Heather! This is not a time for your nasty remarks! You have really scared your father and I. The whole town has heard of what has happened. All we want to know is…why?"

Her thick accent and overly proper English really bothered me sometimes.

"Why does anybody do it? I was sad and I was sick of living."

"Are you going to try it again?"

I shook my head. "I decided it's something I don't want after all. I'll have to come up with another plan."

Mom sighed, shutting her eyes briefly. "Why did you not tell us of your feelings? Why did you not ask to see a therapist? Dad and I would pay for therapy if you need it."

"I tried! You guys didn't listen! You guys never listen and that's part of the reason why I'm even here!"

Silence. I sensed Mom trying to fight back tears. Normally I would've felt guilty, but I was angry as hell.

"The family is very worried," Mom whispered, changing the subject.

I focused my attention on my nails, avoiding eye contact. "Since when do they care? I thought I was too white for them."

And for the record, it was true. They stopped talking to Mom for a couple of years after she married my Dad and not a "nice, Chinese man". They eventually came around but were always really uncomfortable around my sister and I. It's like the stereotype goes: we were too Chinese for my Dad's white family, and too white for my mom's Chinese family.

"You know that they love you so very dearly Heather. _Lao Lao _and _Lao Li _send their highest condolences."

The doctor stepped into the room before I had a chance to respond.

"Good news, Heather. Your body has returned to normal levels. You should be ready for check out within the next hour."

Mom grinned, tears beginning to stream down from her eyes. "Oh great thanks doctor for saving our dear daughter."

The doctor nodded, donning an insincere half-smile across her face. It gave me chills; she seemed so unfazed to what had happened over the past twenty-four hours.

"Heather, Mrs. McLaren…we would like to discuss where to go next. It's obvious, Heather, that you will need to seek consistent professional attention in order to best ensure a steady recovery."

The doctor pulled a business card from a binder sitting on the desk, and handed it to Mom.

"I'd highly recommend visiting Dr. Darien Bastille's practice for psychiatric care. Dr. Bastille is highly experienced in cases like these, especially with adolescents. She will work with you to ensure regular visits are possible."

Mom stuffed the business card into her wallet. "Thank you very so much."

The doctor turned her attention to me. "Heather, I could also recommend you to a number of treatment facilities if you feel that would be a good option for you."

I scoffed. "You mean send me to a crazies asylum? Uh, no thanks. Can't I just see a therapist or something?"

The doctor smiled blankly. I guess she was immune to snarky remarks, too.

"If you think that would be the best option, then sure." She yanked out another card from the binder. "I actually have several to recommend, but for your particular case, I would recommend Dr. Ajeet Sheikh. He works best with teenagers like yourself. I think you will really like him."

I shoved the card into my pocket. "Thanks."

xxxxx

When I left the hospital, I was fully expecting for life to continue as normal. I could go back to hiding behind my depression, and everybody could go back to not caring whatsoever. But to my surprise, Mom had been completely right about that whole everybody-in-town-knows thing. People from all over the area sent mail in, wishing me well and keeping me their prayers.

When I got back into my room, it had been completely decked out in get well attire: balloons, posters, cards, goodie baskets, you name it. Lindsay was sitting on my bed, filing her nails, anxiously awaiting for me to get home.

"What happened here?" I asked. "And what are you doing here? I thought you hated me now."

Lindsay set her nail file down. "They're from some kids at school. You missed yesterday and like everybody made you _sooo_many things."

I picked up a giant poster-card. "We heart you Heather" was written across in giant pink letters, with a bunch of signatures along the bottom.

"Tommy Branson, Aisha van Straiten, Meghan Black, Chase Feldman…" I started to read off the names before trailing off. "Lindsay, most of these people hate me."

Lindsay shrugged. "Nobody hates somebody that tried to kill themselves. It makes them feel bad. Including me."

I carelessly tossed the card down. "So you only want to be friends again because you feel sorry for me? Gee, thanks a lot!"

Lindsay folded her arms. "That's not fair, Heather! I didn't know you, like, had issues. You never told me anything! All you ever did was treat me meanly." Her voice got quieter. "But I miss you. I have nobody to shop with or tell all my secrets to."

I sat on my bed. I wanted to smile and laugh, but I just…couldn't. Everything felt too heavy.

"Fine. Friends. But I don't need your sympathy. Promise. I'm going to be just fine."

Things were even weirder at school. Suddenly people actually _paid attention _to me. They would come up to say hi in a fake-sweet tone and ask how I was doing. Some people gave me hugs. Other people offered to help me walk to class. It's like suddenly everybody was obligated to be nice to me; it's like they thought that one mean remark or cold look would suddenly send me over the edge again.

Most people would absolutely love attention like this, but I _hated _it. Maybe I was depressed, maybe I struggled with many issues in life, maybe I felt lonely. But I was no weakling. I did pretty damn well handling things myself. I didn't want to be seen as some sort of helpless basket-case.

I thought it would wear off after a day or two, as well. But nope. I was suddenly that Weak and Sensitive Girl that needed to be watched, taken care of all the damn time. It became increasingly clear that things could never _really _be the same again.

After the next week was over, I dug through the pockets of the pants I had been wearing at the hospital ad found the card that doctor gave me. I hesitated for a few seconds, but then quickly dialed the number.

"Dr. Sheik's office, this is Melissa speaking. How may I help you?" a woman's voice answered.

"Uh…hi," I muttered awkwardly. "I would like to schedule an appointment."

xxxxx

It took a couple of weeks of waiting, but I actually braved myself up enough to visit the therapist. I felt like such a basket case, a weakling.

I filled out all the basic paperwork, and before I knew it, I was sitting one-on-one with Dr. Sheikh. He had a nice, genuinely warm smile.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

"Heather, could you tell me everything that happened? Let's start there."

I froze. To be honest, I wasn't quite sure _what _happened.

"Well…" I trailed off. "I, uh, tried to kill myself a few weeks ago."

"And why is that?"

I honestly didn't know what to say. I couldn't exactly pinpoint it.

Wasn't it supposed to be an obvious question?

"Did you feel like you were depressed? Did you feel you had no other options?"

I sighed. "Yeah. Something like that."

"Can you tell me why?"

"I don't know. There are a lot of reasons. I don't think I'm entirely sure. I'm just…I'm unhappy with my life. I have been for a long, long time."

"When do you think it started?"

Oh, God.

"Probably when I was twelve or thirteen. It's been something that I've dealt with for a while now. I think I just got so used to the feelings that I became immune to them worsening."

"Do you think you want to try getting better?"

I paused. This was always a much harder question than it should've been. Finally, I nodded.

"Well, Heather, in order for you to get better, we need to pinpoint exactly what went wrong and try to work through it. Can you try that for me?"

"Right now?"

Dr. Sheikh burst into laughter.

"It could take weeks, months maybe. We're going to dig as deep as we can, or as you'd like. One step at a time."

Dr. Sheikh pulled out a small purple journal and a pen, and slid it across the desk, landing in front of me.

"It's something I want you to think about as much as you can. Write your feelings, your findings, in this journal, and we may discuss them. Every time something bothers you, every time you feel urges, or if you just feel like you need to write something down. Journal keeping is great for managing emotions."

I haphazardly placed the journal into my bag. "Okay. I'll try."

I didn't _really _plan on using the journal. I didn't want to put my feelings and secrets into writing. Or rather, I didn't think I knew how to.

But as I went home later that night, the urge to write hit me within minutes, mainly after being re-surrounded by the fake-sympathy gifts that were shoved into a corner.

I opened the journal, grabbed the pen, and began scribbling.

**Discovery 1: I hate when people pretend that they care when they don't. I wish everybody at school would just leave me alone. **

** I'm scared to dig deep. I think that's the big issue. I don't want to face my problems head-on, because I don't want to be reminded that I **_**do **_**have problems.**

** Though how could I really avoid them, anyways?**

** I guess it's time to dig through old memories. **


	2. The Beginning

**Discovery 2: Sometimes our pain is rooted much deeper than we even realize.**

**xxxxx**

"Why don't we start at the very beginning, Heather."

I bit my lip in apprehension. I hadn't done nearly as much thinking as I was supposed to. My journal consisted of the one "discovery" and a couple of useless doodles, mainly from boredom.

"What do you mean 'beginning'?" I asked. "Like, when I was born?"

"As early as you remember. What's the first thing you remember?"

I closed my eyes. That was easy. My very first memory was extremely vivid.

I was five years old and I was just about to start kindergarten. It's a big time in a child's life, whether we want to remember or not. We leave the comfort of our families behind and start to branch out into new territory.

My older sister, Hannah, was on the verge of a new chapter, too. She's six years older than me, and was eleven at the time. She was getting ready to start middle school. Despite the age difference, she was my best friend. We loved to play Barbies and stuffed animals together. We'd go all out: building pillow forts and hiding out from our parents, creating secret alliances with our stuffed animals. The age difference never mattered, because we were both kids.

However, things changed the Saturday before that school year started.

"Well, it's a bit of a long story…"

xxxxx

"Hannah, do you want to build a pillow fort in my room?" I inquired excitedly as I skipped into her room.

She turned around from her meticulous cleaning and shot me a half-smile.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I'm having a few friends over for a sleepover tonight and Mom said I had to clean my room."

I shrugged. I knew and played with all of her friends.

"Who's coming over? Sonia? Lily? Stephanie? Can I play with you guys?"

Hannah's face fell. She ran her hand through her hair.

"No, Heather, this is a _new _group of friends. You don't know these girls."

I didn't quite pick up on the hint. "That's okay! Can I still play with you guys?"

"Heather, I would really appreciate if maybe you played by yourself for just tonight, okay?"

The doorbell rang.

"Hannah, your friends are here!" Mom shouted from downstairs.

Hannah shoved me out of the way as she dashed towards the stairs.

It started to feel like she was hiding secrets from me, which I didn't like. She would sometimes hold secrets over my head just to get on my nerves, though they were usually stupid secrets ("My favorite snack food is Cheetos!"). I didn't want her to keep any secrets from me.

So naturally, I snooped.

I snuck downstairs and waited about halfway down, catching an eyeful of what was going on.

There were three girls I had never seen before standing in the doorway. They looked absolutely _nothing _like Hannah's other friends: they had on brightly colored eyeshadow and lip-gloss, all-pink outfits, and big, sparkly purses over their shoulders.

In retrospect, they looked absolutely ridiculous, but at the time, they looked so _grown-up. _

"Hello Ms. McLaren, it's very nice to meet you," one of them acknowledged as she smiled, revealing a mouth full of green and blue braces.

"It is very nice to meet you girls as well," Mom beamed. "You girls have a lot of much fun, I will come to get you when pizza that I order is here!"

Hannah and her three friends quickly jetted straight past Mom, heading back to Hannah's room.

I climbed back up the stairs and hid in the entryway between our rooms.

"Oh my god, Hannah, your mom's accent sounds _sooo _retarded!" one of the girls crowed. The other two cackled.

Hannah laughed nervously. "Yeah. It's like, really embarrassing. I wish I could duct tape over her mouth in public!"

I didn't know what the word "retarded" meant, or how offensive it was meant to be. I just knew it was bad.

When they reached the top of the stairs, I wandered out of my hiding spot, grinning.

"Hi! I'm Heather!" I announced.

The R-Word offender, whom I'd established as the leader, smiled back a very fake, sickly sweet smile.

"Oh! Hannah…who is this?"

More nervous laughter from Hannah. "This is my little sister, Heather. She just wanted to say hi really quickly and she _won't be bothering us_." Hannah shot me a death glare.

R-Word offender stuck out her hand. "Super ca-yoot! I'm Amber, and these are my two friends, Ashley and Sabrina."

Ashley and Sabrina waved their hands.

Hannah motioned for Amber, Ashley, and Sabrina to go into her room. "I'm glad we've all met. Let's go in my room now." Hannah shot me another death glare. "_Heather _will be leaving us alone now."

_Slam. _I was alone again.

I didn't get why they didn't want to play with me.

As I wandered slowly back to my room, I had a bright idea: if I let the girls play with my favorite Barbies, then maybe they'd be my friend.

I didn't have a moment to lose: I quickly tore through all of my Barbies, trying as hard as I could to pick out three of my very best ones to give to the girls.

I clutched the three dolls in my hand and charged to Hannah's room.

"Do you think Andrew Hargrave is hot?" I overheard as I slowly opened the door.

Being five, I expected the girls to be playing house or stuffed animals or something like that. But no, they were sitting in a circle on the floor, talking. How _boring. _

Sabrina turned her attention towards me and shrieked. "Uh, Hannah, your little _problem _just walked in."

Amber rolled her eyes. "Hannah, you didn't tell me that your family was so annoying. For God's sake!"

I felt oblivious to what they were saying.

Hannah sighed and turned to face me. "What do you want, Heather?"

I stuck out my hand, showing off my handful of Barbies. "I came to play Barbies with you guys! I brought my three favorites for Amber, Ashley, and Sabrina to borrow! One of you can be the teacher and we can play school!"

The three girls burst into laughter.

I didn't get it. Why did they keep laughing at me? Did they not like the games I was suggesting?

"Okay. How about we play the game we played this morning, Hannah? Where I was the light fairy and you were the queen? They can be princesses! Or maybe a servant! It sounds like so much fun!"

Amber turned her attention to Hannah. "You were _playing _with her earlier? What are you, some little kid? I thought you were cool."

Hannah's face turned red, and then purple. "I don't know what she's talking about. I don't do baby stuff like that anymore."

I felt a sudden jolt of sadness. You know, just like most other little kids: you hear something mean and just like that, you go from happy to crying.

"But Hannah…"

"Look, Heather, I'm eleven now. I'm practically grown-up, and you're still a little baby. See those Barbies in your hand? That's for babies only. So go back to your room and leave us mature _grown-ups _alone!"

And with that, Hannah shoved me out of her room and slammed the door behind her. I could hear the four of them shrieking with laughter.

Now, most people assume that when this stuff happens, kids will go and tell their parents or throw a fit or something. Not me. I decided that moment that Barbies were, in fact, a thing of the past. In fact, I stormed back to my room and defiantly threw all of my Barbies in the crash can, screaming "baby toy!" at them at the top of my lungs.

The problem went completely unnoticed until a couple of weeks later, when one of my classmates brought her Barbie for show and tell.

"Haha! Barbies are for babies! Bella is a baby! Baby! Baby!" I taunted. It didn't take long for the other kids to join in, despite the teacher's futile efforts to get us to stop.

"Bella is a baby! Bella is a baby!"

Bella burst into tears, dropping her Barbies and sliding onto the floor, blubbering like no other.

It took the teacher the rest of the day to get Bella to stop crying, but it only took about half an hour before the teacher had to call Mom.

xxxxx

"And so what happened after that?" Dr. Sheikh inquired.

I shrugged. "I don't know. Something stupid. I probably got a toy taken away or couldn't watch T.V. for a week."

I started to feel embarrassed. I had just spent half an hour rambling on and on.

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "That was a really stupid story. I know that's not what you wanted to hear."

"It's obviously not so stupid if you remember it so vividly. In fact, I'm surprised you can remember it at all, being so young."

I nodded. I didn't quite know what to say.

"We usually remember these things because they mark a change. Did things change between you and Hannah after this incident?"

I snorted. "Well, yeah. She had these new, popular friends and didn't want to be a kid with me anymore. That's kind of what happens when anybody gets to be that age though, right?"

"Tell me this, Heather: how did your feelings change during this time period? Do you remember?"

I had never even thought about it before.

"I wanted to be like them." I started laughing. "I started trying to dress like those girls and trying to act like them."

"Do you know why?"

I bit my lip. "I guess…I don't know. I saw Hannah do it, and I looked up to her so much, y'know? I thought it was the right thing to do. It became so engrained into me. I just wanted her to like me again." Tears started to stream down my cheeks. And boy, did I hate crying in front of people. "She was my best friend, and my only friend, really. Her approval meant everything to me. And it sucked because I never seemed to be able to get it again after that."

Dr. Sheikh shot me a comforting smile. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. Many of us do the very same thing. We want the people closest to us to accept us. It oftentimes goes so far back that we don't even realize it's happening."

I wiped a few tears from my cheek. "Yeah. Sorry for bursting into tears like that."

Dr. Sheikh passed me a box of tissues, along with an envelope and several small pieces of paper. "Tonight, when you go home, I want you to write the names down of everybody that you feel you have to strive to receive approval from, stick them in the envelope, and burn it."

I looked down at the paper and back up. "Thank you, I guess. But why?"

"Just get it into your mind that in the end, you don't _need _anybody's approval. It's a good self-affirming exercise. Get those feelings onto paper and then just burn them away."

xxxxx

As cheesy as the whole thing was, I actually tried it when I got home. I couldn't believe how long the list was. In fact, it was so long that I ended up running out of paper and cut up my own strips.

I let my feelings out as I wrote everybody's names down. I found myself starting to stab at the paper or scribble over their names a couple of times.

For the first time, it felt like _I _had power over _them. _

However, I hesitated as I started to write Hannah's name down.

She had been the primary cause of it all, but somehow I still didn't have the heart to burn her, literally or otherwise.

I felt a small sense of guilt: things had changed, though only really after she moved away to go to college. She was twenty-two now and worked as a schoolteacher about forty-five minutes away from home. We weren't super close or anything, but she always had my back when I needed her to, despite all of the things that had happened while she was living at home.

Out of impulse, I picked up my cell phone and called her.

_Ring, ring, ring. _

"Hey Heather! What's happening?" I heard her familiar high-pitched voice buzz through the phone.

"Hey Hannah! Uh, I kind of just wanted to talk about…things that have been happening lately."

Her voice dropped. I could practically feel her face soften through the phone. "Heather…is everything okay? You're not thinking about…trying it again are you?"

"No! I mean just the fact that I've been going to a therapist…and stuff."

"Oh…" She sounded incredibly confused. "So…how has that been?"

"Good, I guess. I don't know. I've only been twice."

Awkward silence.

Then, word vomit.

"Hey Hannah…this is going to sound crazy but…do you remember Amber, Ashley, and Sabrina?"

Hannah burst into laughter. "You mean those crazy bitches I was friends with in like…what, fifth or sixth grade? Oh Jesus. What makes you bring them up randomly?"

I chuckled. "I never got a chance to say...I hated them. Well, I didn't always hate them, but I definitely grew to hate them."

"Oh honey, me too, trust me. I got so fed up with them telling me what to do all the time. Don't you remember when I was like thirteen or fourteen and I came home crying after telling them off?"

I snorted. "Hannah, I was only like, seven or eight. My memory isn't _that _great."

"God, I totally forgot about all of this until you brought it up just now. Yeah, they ended up turning a whole bunch of people against me. Typically girly catty stuff. It was really stupid. I suffered unpopularity all through high school because of that. Not like it mattered anyways."

"Yeah…I vaguely remember now."

"They all ended up being a bunch of burnouts anyways. During junior year I know that Amber got pregnant-on-purpose so she'd have an excuse to drop out. And last I heard, Sabrina was in prison. Not quite sure whatever happened to Ashley. Now tell me: what on earth made you bring _them _up?"

My voice grew quieter. "They came up at the therapist's today. It's my earliest memory…you and them making fun of me. I didn't even realize how much it hurt me, or how much it affected me, mainly because the problem was never really addressed; it just sort of faded away like nothing ever happened."

The line went silent.

After like a full minute, Hannah spoke. "Gee, Heather. I'm really sorry about that. You're right, it was kind of awful, wasn't it? Shit…"

"I just…you know, you're my sister, and your opinion of me always meant the most. I don't think I was ever able to get you to really like me the way you used to after that. Even still."

"Heather…" Hannah trailed off. "You've _always _had my approval. I've always thought you were great just the way you are. Shit, I didn't realize it hurt you so much. You make me want to go back and punch those three bitches square in the jaw. Tell me to and I'll do it."

I chuckled quietly. "Nah, that's okay. I just…I want to know that I mean something to you now."

"You mean more to me than anybody in that entire _town _could ask for! I love you, Heather. Tell you what, I'll pick you up from school sometime next week and we can go shopping together? Maybe we just don't spend enough time together."

I smiled. "Maybe you're right. And that sounds great."

"Awesome! Call me tomorrow and we can sort it out. 'Night, Heather! Thank you for calling!"

"'Night."

_Click._

I jumped up from my chair and onto my bed, taking a few deep breaths as my body sank into the mattress.

Then, I smiled.

Because for the first time, things actually felt a tiny bit better.


End file.
